


Exposure

by brookebond



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Lingerie, M/M, bond thirsts a lot, model!Q, photographer!Bond, q wears lovely lace little things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-28 08:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10827456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/pseuds/brookebond
Summary: Bond is a photographer. Q is a model. What more do you need to know?(There is lace involved.)





	1. April

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afaapm](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=afaapm).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't actually remember how this came to be, but here it is!  
> This lovely fic has been encouraged by so many people in the Bond fandom, I hope it lives up to all of your expectations!  
> I dedicate this fic to the ever lovely a-forger-and-a-point-man because she deserves all the fics!
> 
> Thank you kate_the_reader and swtalmnd for betaing this.  
> Also special thanks to opalescentgold for going over this as well!  
> Thank you somedrunkpirate for cheering me on!  
> Thank you cherrygoldlove for drawing me this wonderful piece of [fanart](https://cherrygoldlove.tumblr.com/post/160197626743/brookebond-see-what-you-made-me-do-fanart-to?is_highlighted_post=1#notes)!

“You owe me for breaking up with the last one.”

Bond sighed loud enough for Eve to pick up on the other end of the call. It was true, without a doubt. He was terrible at actually calling it quits with the people he slept with. Usually they got the hint when he stopped getting in touch, but this last one—Cheryl? Charlene? Crystal?—hadn’t. He’d come home to find her in his living room wearing next to nothing, and while the invitation had definitely been appreciated, he’d had enough of the break-ins.

So Eve had broken up with her for him while he found a new flat.

“Fine. Just email me the details and I’ll shift some things in my calendar,” Bond relented. It would mess up his week and it meant he would get less sleep over the next few days just to finish his current job, but it would be worth it, just so Eve no longer had anything to hold over him.

The email came through straight away, a notification popping up over his editing.

“This will be perfect for you. See you Thursday,” she said, ending the call just as Bond opened the email.

It was sparse, including only a time and place. Bond figured that was why she had rung off so quickly; it gave him less opportunity to grill her for details she wasn’t willing to hand over. Though, he couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t wanted to. He decided that if it was a fashion shoot, he would find a way to make her pay.

 

Bond stubbed out his cigarette, flicking it away as he glanced up at the unimposing building. He’d triple-checked the address, making sure he was at the right place, before knocking on the front door.

“Just a tick,” Eve called, her voice floating through the closed door.

Bond adjusted the straps on his shoulders, hoping he wouldn’t be left out in the rain for too long. His equipment wouldn’t last. He’d brought his camera and two light boxes with him. Since Eve had conveniently left out any details about what he might need, Bond had decided to bring the basics. If he needed anything else, she would have to source it.

“James,” Eve called as she opened the door. “Couldn’t you have worn something nicer?”

Bond looked down at himself. He was wearing dark jeans, a white t-shirt that was possibly a size too small, and a leather jacket. “You expected a suit?” he asked, raising a brow as she ushered him inside and handed over a cup of coffee. Bond stared at the coffee, wondering just what the hell Eve had gotten him into that she needed to ply him with caffeine for.

“Never mind,” she said, leading the way through the flat.

It was clearly staged but still managed to feel strangely like home to Bond. The flat was open and airy, mostly done in whites, which made the whole place seem larger than it really was. Bond liked it and wondered if he could get the person who had staged the place to sort out his mess of a flat.

Eve led him to the bedroom where a few assistants had been setting up lights and staging the room to make it look more polished.

Bond sighed and shrugged; he shouldn’t have taken Eve at her word when she’d said it wasn’t a fashion shoot. He set his things down, placed his jacket on the bed, and started adjusting the lights that were set up, making sure everything was in working order. He took a few snaps to check the light levels and framing.

He was making the last adjustments to his camera settings when Eve came back, a dark-haired wisp of a man following her.

The man—Bond hesitated to call him a boy despite how young he looked—was barefoot with a black silk robe tied tightly around his waist, accentuating his slim build and pale complexion. This was probably what Eve had meant when she’d said it was right up his alley.

Bond couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled up when Eve winked at him. He could already tell it was going to be a long day.

“James. Q,” she said, indicating each of them in turn.

Bond reached out a hand, enjoying the softness of Q’s skin as they shook. “Pleasure.”

Q hummed a response, dropping Bond’s hand quickly and backing away as Eve stepped between them.

“Right, we only need pictures in here and the living room,” she said, gesturing to the bedroom door. “We’ve got all day so no need to rush.”

Bond nodded, his gaze raking over the room as he imagined different spots Q would fit into. As he was mentally making a list, ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ blasted into the silence. Bond turned, raising a brow at his friend.

“Shut up. Moneypenny,” Eve answered, gesturing to Bond that she had to take the call. Just before she exited, Eve shot a warning look at him, one that said he had better not get any ideas about the oh-so-lovely model who was currently disrobing.

Bond’s breath caught in his throat, dick twitching in interest as the robe pooled at Q’s feet. His eyes dragged over Q’s body, taking in the red lace panties that hugged Q’s hips and arse—leaving next to nothing to the imagination—and the matching garter belt, straps hanging loose without stockings to clip on to.

It was only when Q cleared his throat that Bond realised he’d been caught staring and he shook his head, desperate to clear his lust-filled thoughts.

It wasn’t that he’d never done a lingerie shoot before—they made up most of his portfolio really—but male lingerie was totally new. This spoke to Bond on a deeper level, though that was possibly just his dick taking an interest in the mostly naked, svelte male model standing before him. He willed himself to calm down. He was moving on from those sorts of things and had vowed not to take another model to his bed. It had been his first step on the road out of the fashion world and so far Bond had been able to stick to it. He just had to make it through this one day without slipping up and everything would be fine.

“Where do you want me?” Q asked, his tone indicating that it wasn’t the first time he’d asked.

_ ‘Draped over my lap,’ _ Bond thought before he could stop himself. He tried to smile, hoping it came across apologetically and not seedy. “Over there,” he replied, nodding his head toward the window. When he could, Bond used natural light. He favoured the way the shadows played with it and since it was raining, the gloomy, overcast quality of the light was almost perfect as it filtered through the glass.

Q stepped over to the window, trailing his fingers along the sill.

Bond lifted his camera, taking a few shots as he found the right settings to capture Q exactly as he was seeing him.

They settled into a rhythm with Bond barely having to tell Q how to position himself. Q had an ease to him, clearly comfortable in his own skin, and Bond was captivated, positive he could never tire of taking the dark-haired man’s picture.

“Tea break, boys,” Eve called, interrupting Bond’s flow.

He hadn’t even noticed Eve’s return and had to guess, from the look on his face, Q hadn’t either.

Bond felt a stab of disappointment when Q picked up his robe and slipped it on, tying it around his waist as he moved through the living room to the kitchen, Eve hot on his heels.

He stood in the bedroom for a few more minutes, pretending to flick through the photos he’d taken. When he was certain he was alone, Bond adjusted himself. He wasn’t hard, but his dick was certainly interested in everything about Q. Well, what his dick really wanted was to rub against Q’s lace-covered arse.

“Cuppa?”

Bond coughed, almost dropping his camera at the sound of Eve’s voice.

“Need a moment?” she asked, a laugh bubbling out at Bond’s flushed expense.

“Shut up,” he muttered, placing his camera on the bed before moving past her and finding his way to the small balcony. He rested a hip against the railing as he pulled the packet of cigarettes from his pocket, sticking one between his lips and lighting it.

The fresh air was more than welcome, as was the slight drizzle the rain had eased to. Bond hadn’t even noticed the weather change; he had been so caught up in Q. Q in those lace panties, the red a stark contrast to his pale skin. Bond had itched to touch, to reach out and trail his fingers along the skin between garter belt and panties. Instead, Bond sucked harshly on his cigarette, tamping down on his thoughts. He couldn’t go back into the flat with an obvious erection. Eve would never let him hear the end of it, even though he was in this situation because of her.

Taking a final drag of the cigarette, Bond glanced back inside. He had a perfect view of the living room and straight through to the bedroom Q was just exiting.

Bond tracked Q’s movement, the graceful steps he took as he maneuvered around the furniture despite his gaze being solely on the mobile in his hands. His fingers were a flurry of activity as they tapped away at the screen.

Q was so focused he barely noticed Eve setting a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him as he perched on the couch.

Bond moved inside, taking a seat opposite the couch and continuing to watch Q. If anyone noticed him staring, he would use the excuse that he was framing shots in his head, but really, Bond was fascinated. This version was so far from what Bond had just seen. Sure, Q was gorgeous and knew how to work his body which made Bond’s job a breeze, but this Q was a frowning treat in glasses. Bond wasn’t sure which he preferred more—the sensual mystery in lace or the boffin.

“I thought you said this was Earl Grey,” Q said, face pinched in disgust as he finally took a sip of the drink Eve had given him.

“It is,” Eve replied coolly, enjoying her own cup of tea.

“I’m not sure what this is, but it certainly is not Earl Grey,” he groused, setting the cup down and pushing it away from him as though it couldn’t offend him if it was further away.

Bond chuckled, drawing Q’s gaze; piercing green eyes stopped the sound in Bond’s throat before it could develop into more.

Bond coughed to cover the way those eyes made him squirm. “We should get back to it,” he said, vaguely gesturing around the room. If they went back to not directly looking at each other, Bond figured he had a better chance of not trying to get Q into his bed. Though, if he was absolutely honest with himself, the odds of him still trying were pretty high. He was nothing if not predictable.

“Right.” Q stood, removing his glasses and setting them on the coffee table before he untying the robe and letting it pool at his feet as he had done earlier.

Bond could have sworn all of the air rushed out of the room as that thin piece of silk fell to the floor. It was hot, too hot, in the flat and Bond knew it was only him. He didn’t want to give himself away by asking a stupid question and instead dragged his gaze away from Q—who was arranging himself on the couch—to get his camera from the bedroom.

When he came back into the living room, it wasn’t any easier to look at Q. He was lying on the couch, his feet pressing into the cushion with his head resting against one arm. But it wasn’t his positioning that was difficult for Bond. It was the goddamn playsuit he was wearing.

There were black straps containing Q, criss-crossing over his torso with little bits of lace attaching the front to the back. It was somehow the perfect combination of flirty and fragile to edgy and dangerous. Thankfully, Q was wearing plain black bikini briefs under the playsuit so Bond was saved from seeing everything. Well, he told himself he was grateful for that, even if he didn’t really believe it.

Bond fiddled with his camera settings, trying to get his focus off Q. When he was in the zone, it would be easier to ignore the effect Q was having on him. But until then, Bond had to try everything in his arsenal to will his erection away.

It worked until Q stretched on the couch, his back arching off the cushions and drawing Bond’s eyes to the tempting curve. The straps pulled taut against Q’s stomach, digging in ever so slightly in a way that made Bond imagine what it would look like if his fingers were pressed against that milky skin instead.

Bond shot a pleading look at Eve who was watching him, her eyes crinkled in amusement.  _ ‘Oh,’ _ he thought. She knew exactly what was playing through his head and was enjoying watching him squirm. This little favour was quickly becoming much more than he had originally owed her and Bond was going to make sure she paid in spades. There was going to be a lot of grovelling before they were on even ground again.

Q cleared his throat. “If you wouldn’t mind,” he said when Bond’s gaze finally landed on him.

“Bossy git,” Bond muttered but grabbed his light meter, making sure Q was adequately lit.

They got through five minutes before Bond declared the light was shite and needed the light boxes set up in the living room. It was a half-truth. The light quality was starting to worsen, but the situation in Bond’s pants was more pressing—he was quite literally aching and every move just worsened his condition. He’d hoped that he would slip into his professional mode and forget about Q as something sexual, but it hadn’t happened. It had gotten worse with every new position Q had managed to come up with—feet planted, legs spread, hips pushed up in the air, back arched, hands clutching at dark curls. Bond was so utterly fucked that he used the light quality as an excuse to run to the bathroom and relieve a little pressure.

He locked the door and went to the sink, running the cold water and splashing his face with it in a vain attempt to cool down. He wasn’t this weak. Never had a model gotten under his skin so much that he couldn’t slip into a different mindset. Bond was desperate to know what was different about Q.

“Give it up, Bond,” he growled at his reflection. “He’s just another body and you’ve got a job to do.”

“James, we’re all set up,” Eve called with a brisk double knock on the door.

“Just a minute,” he replied and stared himself down. Half an hour. He could finish the job in half an hour and never have to be in the same room as Q ever again.

With his erection mostly subsided, Bond felt more like he could handle the remainder of the shoot. He opened the door and found Eve leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a grin from ear to ear.

“Better?” she asked, clearly thinking he’d escaped to have a wank.

“Peachy,” he said with a grin of his own. He was content letting her think what she wanted. Eve tended to anyway.

Q was still on the couch but had shifted so he was sitting up, arms draped across the back with his head leaned back.

Bond’s bathroom break hadn’t helped as he stared at the pale column of Q’s neck. His mouth was dry at the thought of licking the exposed flesh, feeling Q’s heartbeat beneath his lips.

“Half an hour,” he whispered, partially to his dick.

Focusing solely on taking pictures, Bond managed to make it through the remaining half hour without having to excuse himself again. Though he was half-hard for most of it.

He was packing away his equipment in the bedroom, ready to make a quick escape when Q’s voice filtered into the room, clear and frustrated.

“—you do this?”

“We needed a photographer,” Eve replied, piquing Bond’s interest. They were talking about him?

“Did it have to be him?”

“He owed me a favour. Nothing more, Q.”

Q snorted and Bond wished he could see the look on Q’s face, certain it would be absolutely priceless. “Nothing more than a boy toy in a tight shirt. I didn’t need this now.”

_ ‘A boy toy?’ _ Bond wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or offended but decided he really didn’t need to hear any more in Q’s derisive tone so he shoved the remaining items into his bags. He grabbed them all, hastily settling them on his shoulders, and made his way out of the flat, calling out a quick goodbye to Eve as he left.

“He is rather easy on the eyes, though, isn’t he?” Q’s voice followed Bond through the front door.

Bond made it down the stairs before he stopped and pulled out his cigarette pack, lighting one and taking a drag. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke out slowly. It had the desired effect, calming him almost instantly, though it didn’t help his riotous thoughts. “A bloody boy toy,” he scoffed. What the hell did that even mean?

Halfway through his second cigarette, Bond couldn’t figure out why he was still standing outside the flat and not already home. He wanted to get the photos uploaded to his hard drive as soon as possible so he could finish the job. It was going to be easy, he already knew. Q had been a perfect model and Bond knew that basically every picture he had taken was a good one. The hard part was going to be choosing the final pictures to edit. Well, besides his dick when he spent hours staring at Q’s body clad in lace.

Bond sighed, sucking in more smoke. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the flat door open and close or notice someone stop beside him.

“Can I have one?”

He jumped, almost dropping the cigarette. This was becoming an annoying habit.

Bond glanced over at his interrupter, shocked to find Q standing next to him, hands in his pockets and looking at Bond expectantly. He couldn’t reconcile this Q with the one he had just been taking pictures of. This Q was wearing an ill-fitting, mustard coloured cardigan with checkered trousers that looked like they were about to fall off. Where was the sensual creature? Where was the gorgeous model who knew how to work his body?

Q cleared his throat, reminding Bond that he had asked for something. It took a moment to remember what, but when he did, Bond hastily pulled out the pack and offered it to Q.

Bond tracked the cigarette to Q’s lips, leaning in to light it and enjoying having to get closer to Q. He was pretty sure he spied the playsuit underneath Q’s collar but didn’t stay close enough to get a proper look. He wasn’t sure he could come up with a good enough excuse, no matter how good Q smelled.

“Thanks,” Q said,  blowing smoke out of his mouth softly.

Bond watched Q, unable to keep his eyes off those red lips—the way they wrapped around the cigarette as he sucked and the way they pursed when he blew it out. Bond couldn’t help wondering what those lips would look like in a different situation—red and swollen from too many kisses.

They both stood in silence. Bond wanted to say something, ask Q for his number, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth. It wasn’t cowardice that stopped him, but rather his promise that he’d given up models kept him from saying anything.

As soon as Q was done with the cigarette, he stubbed it out with the toe of his oxfords.

“Thanks,” Q said, a small smile tugging at his lips before he turned and walked away, leaving Bond swallowing hard as he tried not to think about Q’s hips swaying as he left.


	2. July

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you QueenThayet for your amazing and speedy beta of this chapter!  
> Thank you opalescentgold for looking over it as well!  
> I have learnt so much from both of you.
> 
> We can all blame swtalmnd for the anecdote about Eve that Bond shares.
> 
> Thank you everyone that's reading this. I hope you're still in love with this story like I am!

Bond followed the sound of laughter upstairs, camera in hand and bags left by the table. He’d only arrived a few minutes earlier and, having been let into the flat by an assistant, took the time to organise himself better than he had the last time he’d done Eve a favour.

He wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to get roped into doing a shoot _this_ time. But Eve had promised he could use some of the pictures he took for an exhibition he’d managed to book for the next month. It was going to be worth it, he hoped.

Q was lounging on a chaise, the sun streaming down on him. Cushions surrounded him, one propping his head up while he lay flat. He was wearing a black silk robe again but one shoulder had slipped off, exposing a white strap and a hint of lace covering his chest.

Bond stopped just inside the doorway, his eyes raking over Q. He’d expected to see him, of course, but this tableau caught Bond off-guard—a cigarette dangled precariously between Q’s fingers as he laughed at some inane joke Eve told. Whatever he’d felt at their last shoot was resurging, pushing out all the professional thoughts Bond had girded himself with.

Q shifted, bending his knee as he planted a foot further up on the chaise. The robe slipped open with the movement, exposing a sliver of thigh and stocking.

Bond’s fingers twitched and he lifted his camera, snapping pictures of Q as he lifted the cigarette to his lips.

Q glanced at Bond, looking straight into the camera, rosy lips pursed as he blew out smoke.

Heat curled low in Bond’s stomach, unsure if Q was teasing him or just playing for the camera. It didn’t matter; either way, his dick was interested. He tried to ignore the want building inside him and focused on capturing Q in his insouciant state.

“Getting started already, Bond?” Eve teased as she stood from her perch on the seat near Q.

Bond didn’t bother responding, just continued taking pictures as Q smirked and finished his cigarette, eyes lingering on Bond.

“Since I’m not needed, I’ll leave you boys to it, shall I?” Eve tapped Bond on the shoulder, interrupting the flow he was getting into.

He grumbled a response and followed her into the bedroom. “What?” he asked, flicking through the pictures he’d taken. They were good, but that wasn’t a surprise. Q was the perfect subject to photograph and he seemed to be in a playful mood, which was going to make Bond’s job even easier. He was optimistic about the photos he’d be able to keep once the job was done.

“Are you going to play nice if I leave you alone?”

Bond raised his brows, lifting his gaze from the camera. “Eve, I’m always nice.”

“You know what I mean, James,” she sighed.

“Trust me, Eve. I don’t do that anymore.” After his last shoot for Eve, he was determined to stick to his promise. It was all well and good thinking Q was a pretty thing to look at, but he was determined to be professional. Even if he had been utterly distracted by the mere sight of Q.

“Mhmmm. I trust you about as far as I can throw you.”

Bond grinned and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before heading back outside to Q. In Bond’s absence, Q had lost the robe and was sitting up with his legs curled beneath him.

‘ _Dammit,_ ’ Bond thought as he desperately tried _not_ to notice just how perfectly the white bodysuit clung to Q. He steadfastly ignored the lace covering Q’s chest and sure as shit didn’t pay any attention to the straps digging into Q’s thighs.

“Ready?” Bond asked, trying to keep his professional demeanour in place.

“Whenever you are.”

Unlike the last shoot, Bond hadn’t already run through several different ideas on how he wanted Q—which he secretly was taking as a sign that he was sticking to his promise to be good. It also meant that he had to think fast about what he wanted, though, and judging from Q’s slightly raised brows, he was taking too long.

“Right,” he said, coughing to cover the silence as he thought. “Let’s start with you lying down.”

Q rearranged himself on the chaise, his long limbs catching Bond’s gaze. It was hard to look away, but somehow he managed it long enough to lift his camera and start taking pictures.

They fell into the same rhythm as the last shoot, Q knowing what Bond wanted almost before he could form the words. Bond moved around the chaise, taking the opportunity to get at different angles and explore ways that Q could play with the camera the way he had when Bond had first arrived. It had been more sensual then, with the smoke curling around Q, but Bond liked these shots as well. Q commanded attention and Bond was more than willing to give it to him.

“Could you lift your arm?” he asked, standing next to the chaise while Q reclined against the back.

Q complied but something felt off, forced, and Q was making a face.

“What?” Bond huffed, lowering the camera.

“It’s a bit contrived, isn’t it?”

While he wasn’t wrong, Bond wanted to disagree. He was the photographer, he was James fucking Bond, models did as he said. But he knew it was rude to say that, to point out who he was when it hadn’t been brought up before. It put people off when he used his status as a power play, no matter how much Bond enjoyed it.

“You have a better suggestion?”

Q smirked, one corner of his lips tugging up as he shuffled onto his knees, spreading them wide and sitting back on his heels, hands rested on his thighs as he looked down at the chaise.

Bond’s mouth went dry at the sight. From his vantage point, it was exactly like an act of submission and Bond’s mind went straight to what he could do with that, to how delicious Q would be like that in his bed. This wasn’t fair. He was back where he was at the last shoot, acting like some horny teenager that couldn’t control himself.

“That’s good,” he said, ignoring the husky quality of his voice. If he pretended to be unaffected, then maybe he’d start believing it.

They both quieted as Bond started taking pictures again, getting Q to shift his head or arms ever so slightly for a few pictures before they moved onto a new pose. It was easier to drown out his arousal when he thought of Q as just another of the many models he’d had to work with. Though that in itself was nearly impossible. Q exuded a confidence he’d never seen before and it teased Bond, begged to be played with.

“How long have you known Eve?” Bond asked, trying to draw his focus to something less sexy.

“Two or three years,” Q responded, glancing over his shoulder in surprise at the question.

“She’s never mentioned you before.”

“I could say the same about you.”

Bond raised a brow at Q’s tone. He hadn’t been trying to start an argument just was more curious and was obviously being shit at making small talk. What was it about Q that turned him into some sort of idiot? “Did you hear about her and Alec?” he asked, changing track to take their conversation back to something light and fun.

“No,” Q said eagerly as he turned around, crossing his legs as he settled in to hear Bond’s story.

Bond smirked and sat on the coffee table, he was over just a little so he wasn’t directly in front of Q but they were still close. The story about Eve was one of his favourites, he loved to tease her especially since he’d found out exactly what had happened between her and Alec during London Fashion Week the previous year.

“She was stage managing for Mallory, and Alec was a model. Now, I wasn’t there, but Tanner caught them both in the changing room. Eve was adamant that Alec’s zipper was stuck, but seeing as the zipper was on his shirt and not his pants, there was no reason for her to be on her knees.”

“She wasn’t!” Q said, incredulous.

Bond nodded and stared at Q, his hands falling into his lap as he watched the dark-haired model laugh, eyes crinkling, head tipping back. The sound was light and musical, flowing through Bond and warming him up. He wanted to hear the laugh again, wanted to see Q crinkle his eyes in amusement because of something Bond said. He found himself smiling as well, enjoying himself more than he had been when he was trying to be strictly professional.

Bond was always better at shoots when he was interacting with the model. It was hard with Q though, hard to keep his arousal in check. But Bond thought that maybe this way could work. They could laugh and have fun and find a way to work around whatever ridiculous feelings Bond had coursing through him.

“I can’t believe she actually said that,” Q said, his smile still lingering.

“That’s not even the half of it,” Bond replied, his own smile turning into a smirk. He had many stories about Eve and wondered just how much information he could part with before she tried to destroy him. “Did she ever tell you about Tanner in Milan?” Bond asked, raising his camera to continue taking photos.

“Please tell me she wasn’t on her knees with him.” Q’s eyes widened a little as he gazed at Bond, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

Bond launched into the story, recounting how Eve had walked in on Tanner in fishnets and heels. He savoured the way Q laughed again, stored the sound to examine later and took more pictures of Q grinning.

There was something about Q’s smile that Bond wanted to keep forever. He knew the smiling photos would be vetoed by Eve’s client but he wondered if he could convince her those were the pictures he wanted to use for his show. Without even looking at them, Bond knew they would all be keepers. Q was the perfect model to photograph and Bond was going to find it hard to go back to whoever he had to work with next

The conversation flowed between them, Bond keeping up a steady stream of stories of Eve while Q added his own ridiculous tales. It was fun, something Bond wasn’t used to with fashion shoots anymore.

“I think we’ve got it,” Bond said, finally lowering the camera. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been alone outside, but somehow he’d managed to get through at least an hour without getting an erection. He was pleased with himself, proud of his ability to maintain his professionalism while Q looked as delectable as he did. “I’ll let you change.”

Bond left his camera on the bed as he moved through the bedroom and down the stairs. He followed the smell of tea brewing and found Eve sitting at the dining table, laptop in front of her, email open while she hounded someone on the phone.

“Look, I don’t care what you think. I sent the invoice through an hour ago.”

He raised a brow at her, taking a seat across from her and pouring a cup of tea for both of them. “Do I wanna know?” he asked, pushing a cup over to Eve.

She just shook her head in response, holding a finger to her lips to silence him. “Yes, you do that. An hour? I’ll be waiting.” She rang off, huffing out an exasperated breath. “Honestly, why am I still in this industry?”

“Because of the fabulous parties and pretty boys you get to play with?” Bond suggested, lifting his cup of tea to his lips.

“I thought you didn’t drink tea,” she commented, finally noticing his cup as she sipped at her own.

“Just this once. Don’t tell anyone,” he said with a wink, making her laugh.

“How’s it going up there?”

“Well.”

Eve raised a brow at him, silently encouraging him to offer more but Bond knew she was fishing. She probably wanted to hear how he’d slipped up and done something stupid, which would explain why Q wasn’t there drinking tea with them.

“He’s very pretty, isn’t he?”

Bond shot her a look, setting his cup down a little harder than was totally necessary. “Is that was this is about?”

“Not at all,” she said, raising her hands in a show of innocence.

“Nice try. What are you playing at?”

Q entered the room at that exact moment, shutting both of them up but Bond shot Eve a look that he hoped she knew meant he wasn’t letting it go. He couldn’t believe she was toying with him like this, dangling a gorgeous model in front of him. He wasn’t going to do her a single favour ever again.

Bond sipped at his tea, glaring daggers at his friend while she made idle chatter with Q. He’d been happy with the tea this time, praising her for taking his advice with which brand to buy. To be honest, Bond couldn’t have cared less about the bloody tea. All he wanted was to figure out what Eve’s angle was.

He finished his tea, wincing as it burned his tongue on the way down, and excused himself from the table. “Bloody interfering woman,” he muttered on his way up the stairs. Maybe it was all a test to see if he could actually stick to his word. He’d never let her down before so he couldn’t see why she would want to do this to him now. She was the closest thing to family he had and the idea that she had an ulterior motive hurt.

Bond grabbed his camera off the bed, turning back to the open doors that led outside. With Q in a new outfit, they couldn’t go back out there despite the gorgeous weather. It would be boring to continue on the chaise. He sighed and looked out through the bedroom door to the living room. It was too similar to the last flat, white couch and cushions. Boring, everything was boring and Bond was coming up with no ideas. His frustration with Eve was blocking his creativity.

“You alright?” Q asked, catching Bond by surprise.

“Where did you come from?” he asked, realising how stupid he sounded as the words slipped from his lips.

Q just raised a brow at him without answering.

“I was thinking we could take some shots of you on the bed,” Bond said, trying to recover from his latest inanity. He followed Q, focusing on his camera. The battery was still charged enough to make it through another few hours of use before he’d need to change it out.

“Let’s start with you on your back—” he started, the words catching in his throat when he finally looked up.

Q was sprawled on the bed, legs slightly open, with his arms crossed behind his head. This was exactly the kind of image Bond _didn’t_ need, not with whatever bullshit Eve was pulling. But he took a step towards the bed anyway, inexorably drawn to Q despite his best intentions. He hadn’t noticed Q’s outfit at the table, but now that he was spread out for Bond—he tried hard to remind himself that it wasn’t for him at all—he was entranced. The creamy expanse of Q’s skin was broken up by a tiny mint green lace thong, which barely covered anything, and the oversized white button up shirt reminded him far too much of one of his own.

Before that moment, Bond hadn’t realized how little hair Q had on his body but now that he was aware, he wanted to inspect every inch of the model to find out exactly which parts of him were hairless. Ideally, he would perform this inspection with his mouth. His cock started to fill despite his best intentions to not ogle Q. It really was difficult with that bloody smirk on his face.

“That’s good,” he said, realising that he’d been standing quietly for too long, again. ‘ _Professional_ ,’ he reminded himself. It was important to make it through the shoot without needing to take a break. He could manage it. He was a goddamn professional.

“Do you always take this long to get started? Or am I a special case?”

Bond blinked, the questions catching him off guard. Was that a flirtatious tone in Q’s voice? He shook his head, clearly his arousal was clouding his brain. Q was annoyed, he wasn’t flirting and Bond didn’t want him to either. At least that’s what he told himself.

“Just getting ideas,” he said, trying once again to deflect from his awkwardness. From the raised brow Q threw at him, Bond knew it hadn’t worked. “Right then. Just lie back and think of England.”

Q laughed, bright and musical, the sound thrilling Bond as much as it had earlier and he hadn’t even intended to make him laugh.

Bond smiled at Q and moved to the bed. There was just enough room for Bond to slide in between the bed and the wall. He wanted the light behind Q to create a silhouette that would allow the white shirt to glow, making Q look angelic while he was anything but in that thong.

They started with Q on his side, one arm holding his head up, knees bent, head tilted away from the camera. As Q moved through different poses, Bond shifted his position, climbing over the bed to get to the other side. It wasn’t until he was standing over Q, reaching down to adjust the shirt, opening it a little more, that Bond even realised he’d been gradually getting closer and closer to Q.

His fingers brushed against Q’s chest, his skin hot to the touch. Bond drew back as though he’d been burned, looking up to find Q gazing at him with hooded eyes, teeth digging into his lower lip. ‘ _Danger_ ,’ his mind added helpfully, as though he couldn’t tell he’d somehow crossed a line without noticing. He was a professional. He needed to get himself under control and back away from whatever was building between them. The fact that Q seemed to be affected by him as well wasn’t helping.

“Thought I was just a boy toy,” Bond said, his voice low even to his ears.

Q’s eyes snapped open, some of the lust receding. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, Q, I’m very flattered.” His eyes travelled down Q’s body, pointedly looking at the rather impressive erection straining against the mint green thong.

“I’m surprised you can still get it up,” Q said, smirking at him. “I would have guessed you’d be too raw after the last shoot.”

Bond flushed, his eyes flicking away for just a moment. When he looked back at Q, the smug grin that greeted him fuelled the fight in him. He wasn’t going to let some prat in lace get away with talking to him like that. “Yes, well.” Bond cleared his throat and straightened up, staring Q down. “Whose bloody fault is that?”

Q’s grin faltered just a little. Clearly he hadn’t expected Bond to admit that he had wanked himself silly over Q’s pictures.

He watched as Q’s eyes travelled down to his crotch and Bond reached down, adjusting himself so his erection wasn’t pressing against the zipper of his trousers. He watched as Q’s tongue darted out, licking the lip he’d just been biting. Somehow that small action was enough to snap Bond out of whatever trance he was in and he climbed off the bed, stumbling slightly in his rush to escape.

Bond ran down the stairs, clutching his camera in his hands and found the flat empty except for himself and Q. That was trouble. He briefly wondered where Eve had run off to, and contemplated giving her a call to get her to come back. Instead, Bond pulled out his laptop. He would distract himself with work. He only needed a few minutes to calm down before he could head back upstairs and finish the shoot.

He connected the camera to the laptop and started the process of importing pictures. They flashed across his screen, hundreds of them, tiny glimpses of Q teasing him with what was upstairs waiting for him if he wanted it.

Bond was so caught up in his work, sorting through the pictures that had already transferred, that he didn’t notice Q until he was being pushed back against the chair and Q was climbing into his lap. Q straddled him, legs spread wide over Bond’s thighs drawing his gaze.

Q was still wearing the lace thong, his erection peeking out from underneath the tiny waistband. “Let’s fuck,” Q whispered, breath hot against Bond’s ear.

Bond groaned, his hands finding their way to Q’s hips, fingers digging in as Q ground down against Bond’s very interested dick. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he protested, trying to remind himself that he had principles, he was a professional, he had a promise he’d made himself that he was supposed to be sticking to.

“Shut up,” Q muttered as he rolled his hips, his own straining erection pressing into Bond’s stomach.

Bond pressed up, unable to control himself with Q wanton and willing on top of him in just a little scrap of lace. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, dry-humping each other, but Bond was going to finish far too quickly if Q continued. Bond tightened his grip, stilling Q’s hips and surged up, pressing his lips to Q’s. The kiss was rough and messy and Bond quickly forgot about holding Q still. His hands roamed under the open shirt, pulling Q tighter against him as Q rubbed against him. It felt so good, finally giving in to the arousal that had plagued him for months.

They were rutting against each other, both panting into each other’s mouths and both close to finishing when the door banged open, Eve’s voice leading the way before she cut off mid-sentence. “James, have you seen— Oh.”

Bond and Q stilled, both of their heads snapping to the open door and Eve who was standing there, staring at them, her mouth open slightly.

“I thought you were giving this up,” she shot at Bond.

“I am,” he said, hands still clutching at Q even though they’d both stilled their hips. Bond desperately wanted to continue whatever they were doing and tried to get Eve to leave with a meaningful glance but she continued to stare at them, arms crossed over her chest with a raised brow.

Q huffed and climbed off Bond.

Bond could see a wet patch on Q’s panties and had the sudden urge to press his mouth against them, to taste Q and finish him off with his mouth. Fucking Eve and her cockblocking.

“Really?”

Her disdain was obvious and Bond sighed. “I didn’t start it,” he said once Q was out of the room. The excuse sounded weak even to him but it was the truth. Not that anyone would believe that Q had jumped him, not with a reputation like his. “I don’t need to hear it. I know you’ve been plotting something so don’t act so surprised.” He started packing his things away, shutting the laptop and hastily stuffing it into the nearest bag.

Eve sighed and crossed to him, placing a hand on his shoulder though he shrugged it off. “James, I didn’t think you’d actually give in.”

“Guess we were both wrong,” he huffed, grabbing the bags even though most of them were still unzipped. “I’ll call you.” He left without a glance behind, slamming the flat door shut.

Bond made it around the corner before he stopped, pressing his forehead against the rough wall. It was tempting to bang his head against the brick and berate himself for being so easily swayed by a gorgeous body. His promise meant nothing now.

“I live near here.”

Bond twisted a little to glance at who dared to intrude on his moment. He groaned when his gaze fell on Q. He couldn’t get a fucking break. “That’s lovely,” he said and turned back, still resisting the urge to bash his head against the wall.

“We could go there and continue what Eve interrupted,” Q offered, his voice much closer than it had been a moment before.

Bond stepped back from the wall, eyeing Q. “No. That wouldn’t be a good idea.” He leaned down and grabbed his bags, hastily setting them on his shoulders. “It was a pleasure working with you again,” he said, offering a weak smile and walking away as fast as he could without actually running.


End file.
